


Flock Together

by PlaguedQuillfeathers (PlagueBirbizzle)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, But tbh endgame is barely referenced, Established Relationship, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Injured pokemon finds a weird family, M/M, No Beta I die like a mess, Pokemon, Pokemon cuddling, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Redwing the talonflame, Snafu the staraptor, So many pokebirbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueBirbizzle/pseuds/PlaguedQuillfeathers
Summary: Waking up to a crash upon the roof is neither new or abnormal these days, from frantic spider-children looking for a place to hide to the odd creature opting to build a nest in the chimney, but this thud was not followed by the former’s mile-a-minute commentary or the latter’s incessant hooting.Just a thud, a slight slide, and a frustrated warble.pokemon au, because why tf not





	Flock Together

**Author's Note:**

> I had a craving and I took it.  
> May Sambucky continue to rise, homies.

Waking up to a crash upon the roof is neither new or abnormal these days, from frantic spider-children looking for a place to hide to the odd creature opting to build a nest in the chimney, but this thud was not followed by the former’s mile-a-minute commentary or the latter’s incessant hooting.

Just a thud, a slight slide, and a frustrated warble.  
  
“Sam, is that you?” Luckily for one James Buchanan Barnes, sleep had not quite pulled him into the realm of bliss, one eye cracking open as the muffled sounds continued above him. Whatever it was, it had to be large enough to cause such a noise; the sound was loud enough to be made out by the human ear, after all. No super soldier hearing required. He could only hope that the tiles hadn’t been dislodged. “No landing on the fucking roof-”  
  
There was a shift on the roof, startled as if whatever decided to crash was listening in, and Bucky froze, listening just as intently.  
  
Another shift, a slight slide, and a frustrated warble.  
  
Not Sam.

 

Whatever it was, it was not Sam.

 

It was a Tuesday: Sam would be out until sunrise, busy with whatever was asked of him in the wonderful world of paperwork. As much as he could have tagged along, the mere thought of sifting through mission debriefs felt like torture.

  
That and the “unfortunate incident of archive room 32B”, as is anything with sudden kissing and accidentally burnt paper. They did make up for it, no matter what Fury said to remind them about scarred interns receiving stupid gifts. It’d do.

 

It was a great gift basket.

 

The figure on the roof seemed to be shimmying towards the edge, which happened to hang near one of the bedroom windows. A normal reaction would be getting out of the room, or something far less reckless, but Bucky had other ideas. Whoever had the balls to break into their house would not go down without a fight, even if it had to be with a 100-year-old man with bed hair, one arm, and a fluffy onesie.  
  
It was cold. Sue him.

 

Thus, shifting carefully out of bed, the White Wolf inched his way towards his vantage point, eyes narrowing as the shifting above was punctuated occasionally by the odd warble. _Any second now, the intruder would make their entrance-_  
  
Shift, warble. _Three._

Shift, warble. _Two._

Shift, warble. _One-_  
  
There was a sudden line of motion, causing Bucky to brandish the blade nestled behind a lamp, only for the motion to, well, travel downwards.

 

The intruder fell like a dead weight.  
  
Having landed with a crash, the thing let off a startled cry, and Bucky could not help but express confusion at the lack of a human expletive. However, once he registered the sound, rasped yet highly inhuman, it all seemed to fit into place.  
  
_“-Raptor!”_  
  
_Oh god._

 

Now, Bucky may have taken strides to understand the world around him once more, while inserting himself back into it, but there were a few _aspects,_ so to speak, that still didn’t settle well with him. Some would bring up crowds, while others would mention loud noises, but one stood out in particular even in small groups or quiet places.

 

Then again, the lack of a pokemon partner did that. Such was the world they lived in, unfortunately.  
  
From the splintered memories in his mind, there was a semblance of familiarity with the concept, but with the future making leaps and bounds to all but create symbiotic relationships with these creatures in the last 70 years, he could not compare it to the odd nut in Brooklyn who tried taming feral rattatas for a bet. Then again, the ever-looming threat of Captain America’s trusted braviary still circled close enough to make the jump believable; while many had ignored the creatures, the building blocks for finding a companion may have begun ages ago.

 

Nonetheless, pokemon did not sit well with him, no matter how cute and cuddly they could get.  
  
Hydra hadn’t let the Asset near a pokemon partner, however, for reasons unknown. Perhaps they’d discovered that attachment bred weakness, which was not needed in a weapon that needed to get past human and pokemon alike. Naturally, they’d trained tag-alongs to assist with his missions, but they were nothing more than leashed beasts at that stage, following commands like the partners they had to subdue.

 

Bucky had seen (and burned) quite a lot of bases where they got their grimy mitts on the creature, breeding only the best and brightest. No wonder nobody saw the so-called ‘legendaries’ and ‘mythicals’ in the skies once the pairing process grew popular; someone would get far too greedy. If whatever cruel conditioning did not go well, they’d probably slaughter the poor things for parts. Research.  
  
It felt a bit too familiar whenever he stared at a pokemon, after all.  
  
How many of them had died by his hand, left alone with no allies or worse, taken? Did some run and spread the word? Perhaps Hydra was equally a myth among the strange assortment of creatures? Some of them did seem to retain information, highly intelligent in their own right...  
  
As a result, Bucky avoided them like the plague, save for the select few that burrowed their way into daily life. The skiddos in Wakanda had been the closest thing to a partnership he’d been able to experience if he was honest with himself. They were oh-so-fluffy and eager to cuddle into anything with a pulse who needed the company that he could not exactly avoid them. He could only wonder if Buhle - the old, all-knowing gogoat who never let him go through a rough patch alone - was taking care of the kids.

  
_“-Raptor!”_ Another pained warble sounded outside the window, followed by a shift in the autumn leaves. The fallen pokemon did not seem to be staying out of choice, burrowing its way into what had to be the most annoying wake-up call of the week (which counted a call-in for some tyranitar terrorizing Texas, featuring Peter’s excitement for endless Jurassic Park jokes and alliteration).

 

The pokemon was injured, probably wild and chose the wrong house to crash into on an early Wednesday morning.  
  
“Great. Just great.”  
  
It took a brief stock-up on weapons under a quick change of clothing and re-fitting his arm for Bucky to exit through the porch door, eyes scanning the backyard with every expectation of an ambush. Morgan’s tire swing - a needed addition after an afternoon babysitting - swung slightly due to the wind, but any excess movement was scarce. _All clear._

 _Well, except for the dark heap to the right, wings spread out as it breathed deeply._  
  
Great. It could fly.

 

In reference to the usual suspects trying to shack up on their roof, Bucky had not seen anything quite as large. Sure, the odd pidgey or pikipek would make a nest in the trees, but that was usually a mistake on their part, with an apex predator in the vicinity. Redwing may have accepted most store-bought meals, but not even Sam could scold him out of snagging something live when the need arose. _Permits are a bitch to have, but he’s worth it. We’re tight like that, man._

 

If only the bird whisperer was here to figure out this shit, because, in this situation, he was _not tight like that_.

 

The pokemon was downed, obviously, one wing spread out flat while the other spread crookedly, feathers littering the floor around its equally roughed body. Illuminated slightly by the porchlight, Bucky noted dark greys and browns, joined by a sudden glimpse of red sticking up in chaotic spikes, white lining its neck area. Avian, just like his partner’s, well, feathered partner.

 

It warbled, louder this time, and Bucky saw the reds of its gaze before it pushed itself to its feet, feathers fluffing up in obvious wariness, while its wings spread in a menacing pose. It was bigger than he thought, now that its front was presented, but there were signs of struggle in its appearance. Dull feathers, slightly off proportions...perhaps malnutrition? Bucky’s heart leaped at the sight.

 

It did not look good, not by any standards.

 

Whatever it was, it did not seem to stop the pokemon from considering the act of ripping out his trachea, beak clacking menacingly. _“Staraptor…”_

 

Oh, that was not a friendly sound, not at all.  
  
Just passing four feet, the injured pokemon regarded the human with narrowed eyes, beak opening in a hiss that Bucky had likened to the swanna at the park. No matter what Sam said, those things were the devil incarnate, ready to yank his arm off to get at a crumb between the plates. While this pokemon may not resemble those menaces, it sure did hiss like them.

 

The duckletts were cute, though.

 

“Now hold on,” Raising his flesh arm, Bucky opted for a peaceful approach, eyes darting to the currently open sliding door to confirm his means of escape. “I’m not here to hurt you, I swear.” In that state, it did not look like the pokemon would be faster than he was at escaping, so that was a step in the right direction.  
  
Right?  
  
The creature hissed once more, before snapping its beak in Bucky’s direction, challenging. A solid ‘ _well, I’m willing to hurt you’,_ if any _._ Non-verbal, but highly effective, given the circumstances.

 

Fun times.

 

Bucky sighed, but kept his hand up, watching the other’s every move for an opening. The chances of getting his ass handed to him by a bird looked slim, nonetheless. By the looks of it, the outstretched wings were causing it pain, if the twitches were anything to note, while its odd glances upward to inspect the raggedy comb of crown feathers hinted at annoyance. _Was it worried about how it looked at a time such as this?_  
  
The thought had him chuckling softly, only to receive an impatient chitter in response.

 

It seemed that the pokemon knew exactly what he was thinking, producing something that could be read as a scowl. “Hey, I’m not laughing at you-”  
  
Feathers rustled while its beak clacked: a whole-hearted, non-verbal chorus of _‘bullshit’._

 

“Alright, perhaps a little, but you’ve got better things to worry about than-” Bucky gestured at his own hair, messed up from tossing in bed. “All of this.”

 

That seemed to get the pokemon to relax a bit, looking somewhat sheepish but still wary enough to be on alert. It seemed to scrutinize the human, gaze focusing intently on his hair, before dismissing it with a clack of its beak…and trying to take off into the sky.

 

Now, the motion had startled Bucky slightly, a gust of wind picking up leaves as the pokemon attempted to get airborne, but it was the subsequent failure of such an attempt that had him step forward unconsciously. The pokemon’s right wing could not take the weight it was used to, snapping closed in reflex once it crashed. It was a less devastating blow than falling from the roof, but the leaves made up for it with sound.

 

It was all over in a matter of seconds.  
  
_“Star.”_ If Bucky had ever heard a curse, no matter how resigned, then it sure sounded like one.

 

“Yeah, _star-”_ He was close enough to see the pokemon breathing, hand rising when the bird chose to rise once more. He has close enough to get a face full of talons if it decided to strike - _fuck it’s big_ \- and now far enough to consider his escape plan less than injury-free. That didn’t stop him from trying; a few marks wouldn’t take too long to heal.

Hopefully, it didn’t spit acid, or whatever wild thing pokemon seemed to like doing. “You need help, even if it’s for a little while. So why don’t we-”  
  
The words seemed to register with the pokemon, who shot him a look that could probably fell a weaker man, but its feathers flattened without another word. Instead, it merely glanced towards what it knew was a den, before shouldering past and climbing onto the porch swing. “Go inside...”

 

_Well, that was easy._

 

Bucky, barely shifting at the contact, merely raised an eyebrow as it got comfortable amongst the pillows, neck shrinking into its body as it curled up, still stiff from injuries but proud enough to ignore them.

 

“Or not.” The relief settled across his chest once he exhaled. He could work with this, even if it meant that there was a bit of stubbornness to deal with. It wouldn’t be the most abnormal thing to work through, after all. Besides, he’d dealt with not one, but _two_ Captain Americas - one of which he was happily dating. One bird would not be the hardest thing to help, right? Redwing wasn’t that bad-

 

The pokemon hissed as Bucky inched past it, one red eye focused intently on his movements until he slid back into the house. It stayed watching for a few moments longer, before wriggling in place and closing its eyes. He doubted it was thinking of sleep.

 

He’d have to see.  
  
“Now, what’s the best Pokedex app to use…”

 

* * *

 

_Papercuts have to be the greatest villain of all time: Fuck Thanos._

 

Sam Wilson nursed a particularly nasty one along his knuckle, eyes rolling at the sound he received from his current companion. Unlike him, Redwing didn’t have to care for sorting through paperwork, despite how hard it was not to set it alight. Such was the nature of talonflames, after all; they would _not_ have another incident.

 

However, Redwing’s restraint and a relatively solid debrief (minus one off-topic ramble or three) had the process going quicker than usual, which meant that they’d arrive home just before the sun rose. With the next few days off, it would be good just to sleep in for a while, swaddled up in blankets while responding to twitter hate on a private account. While the frenzy around the shield had died down, there was always some asshole who tried to start something with him and Bucky alike. Fucking idiots.  
  
Either way, they both needed the rest, anyway, no matter how Bucky tried to dismiss it.  
  
Perhaps they’d go pet the gogoats at the zoo again.

 

The car stopped a block away from their home, leaving Sam and Redwing to their own devices as it made a U-turn and drove off. The streets were calm at this time in the morning, save for the odd nocturnal pokemon that braved a quick run across the street, which left the two alone in their thoughts.

 

Without another word, Redwing took to the sky to circle low, eyes peeled for danger, yes, but more so for a stray soul that was easy to pick off.  
  
Sam sighed, but didn’t scold him on it; having a predator pokemon among the city suburbs - in which ‘prey’ pokemon were abundant as companions - had a ton of laws around it, but Redwing was expertly trained to avoid problems such as accidental slaughter, with permits and all to spare.

He’d fight the neighborhood watch before he gave up his talonflame and they knew it.

 

Honestly, only Jim-down-the-road seemed willing to take up the offer, but that was the same Jim who scowled whenever he walked by the house, as if it desecrated the land it stood upon, let alone seeing Sam suited up; he was sure Redwing wouldn’t mind scorching up the asshole’s house too, if Bucky didn’t get to it first.

 

A sudden caw above him, however, wrenched the image of burning timber out of his mind, replacing it with acute alertness that came with such a call. Redwing had come quite far from the tiny fletchling scout that followed pararescue around, but the call had remained the same: he’d spotted something completely foreign to the allocated area, potentially living and possibly dangerous.

 

As Sam rounded the corner, however, he saw the kitchen lights were on. “The hell-”  
  
Redwing seemed to have similar thoughts, chirping loudly, but instead of landing at the front door, he dove towards the backyard immediately, flames licking the tips of his wings in an obviously threatening gesture. Having narrowly missed lighting up a nearby tree ( _again),_ the pokemon was soon out of sight, only for a chorus of shrieks to echo through the neighborhood.

 

“Wait fuck-” There was a muffled curse from within the house, followed by a clatter and a series of footsteps.

 

Sam raised an eyebrow, shocked, before using his key to enter the house.

 

By the looks of it, Bucky was having an early breakfast. _This is fine._

 

By the time he reached the porch, however, things were obviously not fine.

 

For one, Redwing had taken to flapping his wings incessantly, little embers rolling off the tips and disappearing into the air. Nothing seemed to have caught on fire just yet, but Murphy’s Law hung over this scenario with every piece of information he received.

 

Bucky had his left arm out, keeping the scorching pokemon from reaching his planned destination, which happened to be an equally posturing staraptor on the porch swing. By the looks of it, a fight would not do anything to make it look worse, given the state of the poor thing, but both pokemon were quite notorious for their antics. They’d both fight if it meant preserving egos; whatever fought that staraptor must have had a similar mentality.

 

Bucky turned away from shushing Redwing, offering a withering look towards the hissing staraptor before fixing Sam with a sheepish smile. “Welcome back, darling. Could you tell Red over there to back off a bit? It’s a scruffy thing, but I don’t think it’s gonna do any harm.”

 

The pokemon mentioned puffed out its feathers, looking ridiculously ready to throw down despite its injuries, but Bucky still held those big blue eyes at half their power. _Dammit._ How could he say no to that?  
  
Thus, with a stare that screamed for further explanations once this was over, Sam broke eye contact to stare at the talonflame, who still looked ready to go. “Redwing, it’s fine. Leave the pokemon alone. Please?”  
  
It took a few moments of pure pride for Redwing to stand down, feathers slightly ruffled in disappointment, but the bird didn’t dwell longer than a few seconds afterward; with a huff, he toddled back into the house, probably to sleep on his perch. _Grumpy little thing._

 

Bucky watched him go with a grateful sigh, hand dropping to his side once more, only to pivot so that he could gently take Sam’s hand in his own. The staraptor’s eyes darted between them, scrutinizing. “So, this happened-” Pulling said hand to his lips, eyes still banking on that glow which Sam loves so much, he kissed the other’s knuckles. “So I need a bit of help.”

 

“And buttering me up is going to help with that, huh?” Sam looked away before an easy smile joined the blue-eyed assault of terror, focusing on their house guest with interest. “They really did a number on this staraptor, huh? Where’d he come from?”

 

Bucky folded his arms, sighing. “Crashed onto the roof and rolled off. Must have got into a fight that hurt its wing.”  
  
“Seems like it. These guys aren’t ones to stay down easily if my Pokedex knowledge is right.”

 

“Staraptor: The predator pokemon.” Bucky found himself reciting what he read from his app only a few moments prior, definitions springing up from across the globe. “It never stops attacking even if it is injured and it fusses over the shape of its comb.”  
  
The pokemon seemed to fluff up at either the sudden attention or the mention of its comb, a muffled yet miserable sound forming, but it stayed still as Sam crouched to be at eye-level.  
  
Sam clicked his tongue in sympathy. “Well, if he hasn’t taken the liberty to fix up his comb yet, then he’s either resigned to his situation or bone-tired. Still think it’s the resignation, though, if those eyes are anything to go by. The pokemon’s gaze was still sharp, after all, blinking once to drive the fact home. “But he’ll live.”

 

With that said, the staraptor settled down once more, tucking himself as far into its feathers at it could. There was no chance of getting him inside, but the sun would soon warm up the porch anyway.

 

_He’ll live._

 

Bucky smiled slightly, joining Sam with a crouch and wrapping an arm around him. In reply, Sam silently placed his lips on his cheek, reassuring, before pulling them both to their feet. “Let’s go see what these guys eat first, get him settled and then take a nap.”  
  
Heat blossomed pleasantly where his lips disconnected, contrasted heavily with morning air. “Sounds like a plan. Gonna change?”  
  
Sam found himself chuckling, shoulders knocking affectionately as they entered the house once more. “If you stop stealing _my_ snorlax onesie, then perhaps I will.”  
  
Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

“So they are slight omnivores.” The words weren’t phrased as a question, but as Sam sat at the kitchen counter watching Redwing watch the staraptor pick apart a bowl of berries and meat while occasionally going for the water bowl nearby, he noted what the pokemon ate the most. By the speed at which it ate, there must have been days since he had a good meal.

 

“Well, the talons do hint at hunting. Perhaps he hasn’t found a good spot to hunt.” Bucky watched the pokemon intently, noting the odd twitch of feathers whenever he was caught staring. “Don’t think it meant to get tangled up around here. The smaller ones can stay in parks and mooch off thrown bread, but nobody will approach something that big and dangerous. Besides, staraptors don’t flock.”

“From the looks of it, I don’t doubt that it took on another flock by itself. Probably got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Sam sipped at his coffee, chin in palm, elbow on the counter.

 

Redwing, seemingly understanding the conversation ( _as much as Sam liked to dismiss it_ ) chittered in agreement.

  
Between leaving the pokemon to rest and feeding it breakfast, Bucky lay on the couch, phone in a hand to do some research. While the ‘dex did help quite a lot, there must be far better accounts of the species by people who chose them as companions. It wasn’t surprising to find that - like most fully evolved flying pokemon - trainers had taken to staraptors quite well, while others spoke of the daring attempts to catch a wild one in the days where wild-catching was rampant. Through all of this, a few common points could be raised, with the greatest of them all relating to the pokemon’s fierce independence.

 

Their greatest milestone as an evolutionary endpoint came with leaving the flock and branching out on their own. Alone. If the staraptor had it any other way, then it would not be accepting food like this; however, desperate times called for equally desperate measures, ego be damned.

 

The ravenous motions only made the extent of the staraptor’s predicament more prominent, especially with its comb still unkempt, tips slightly splattered by it dipping for food. Once it was done, it seemed to shiver - gaze settling on the porch floor instead of the window once more. Perhaps if it stared long enough, the wing would magically gain strength once more, leaving it to shoot off and continue its life as if nothing had happened.

 

Bucky’s heart twisted at the sight. “Shouldn’t we take him to one of those centers? Hell, I’m sure Hill would know someone who can take a look at him.”

 

“That’s the thing...we’ll probably have to dart him before he goes anywhere. I don’t want to mistake a sprain for anything broken, so that is still the best option.” Sam sighed but looked thoughtful. “I’ll call Clint to see if he knows anyone. If there’s one guy who knows feathered pokemon, then it’s him.”  
  
_The farm did have a lot of them, come to think of it-_  
  
“Does that mean we have to put on shirts when he arrives?”

 

Sam, eyebrow-raising, sent an appreciative glance across Bucky’s chest, before rolling his eyes in exasperation as he stood up from his stool. “As much as I want to mess with him, let’s focus on the guest.” Bucky took that as his cue to return the favor, eyes traveling up and down with a shit-eating grin.  
  
“You’re no fun.” The pout, lip jutted out obscenely, was unseen by the other when he turned, but the force of it reached nonetheless. It may have been the heart eyes that enhanced it. “Come on, it’ll be funny.”  
  
“I love you too, Barnes, but put a damn shirt on.” The sing-song tune followed Sam all the way to the kitchen, leaving Bucky to smile to himself.

 

_The staraptor, intrigued, watched the sight for a few moments more, ignoring the amused stare of the humans’ talonflame, before settling back on the porch swing. Fed, rested and presumably allowed to stay, the list of mercies continued to grow; why would the humans care all that much about some intruder? It made no sense in the pokemon’s mind; birds of different feathers rarely flocked together, after all._

_Curiouser and curiouser…_

 

_He slept, curiosity being overtaken by rest._

* * *

 

  
“So you’re saying that this pokemon just crashed onto your roof and threatened to fight Barnes? That’s some energy, huh?” Clint hadn’t wasted time once Same made the call, besides the two hour grace period that preceded his late arrival. He’d arrived just after midday with a frappuccino in hand and some questionable bruises along his knuckles. Something about his friend’s noivern needing some help in Hell’s Kitchen, despite receiving a side-eye under the dark hood of a highly amused decidueye.

  
As much as _that_ sounded like a tale and a half, the three were too busy watching the slumped staraptor - out cold from a small knockout arrow - be checked by Clint’s associate. Bucky, having opted to shuffle forward whenever the nurse changed position, was barely listening to the conversation behind him.

  
The nurse - Mel - was a happy, yet soft-spoken lady, if one put it lightly, but flanked by her Blissey, it made the resemblance highly understandable. That didn’t affect her focus, however, but it seemed to keep her hands steady. With a gentle touch, the pokemon nurse inspected the wing by threading her fingers through feathers, before motioning to her pokemon so that they could shift the staraptor into a better position.

 

By the time she got to the staraptor’s face, brushing the comb out of the way, she finally spoke up. “He’s not yours, is he?”

 

It took a second or so for Bucky to realize the question was directed at him. “He just crashed here less than a day ago, ma’am. He’s nobody’s to my knowledge.”

  
“Doesn’t seem to be your typical wild pokemon, though. Maybe released from wherever he was previously.” The words were barely above a whisper as she worked, but the next sentence was acceptable in volume. “Come, look at this.”  
  
Bucky lurched forward, squatting down to watch as Nurse Mel lifted the staraptor’s foot; a permanent line, probably from a misplaced tag, seemed to be the result of it. The sight of it made his heart sink. “Abandoned?”  
  
“Possibly, but there aren’t any other signs of being kept in captivity. I’d at least expect a wing tag, but even this is far from the normal tagging of most flyers.” Mel frowned, troubled by the sight. “It wouldn’t cause this much damage anyway; whoever ‘tagged’ this staraptor must have probably been shackling it, no ifs ands or buts about it.”

 

 _“Blissey.”_ Her pokemon hummed in agreement, looking just as troubled as she held the staraptor up in her hands for the nurse to strap up the wing.

 

“Well, we’re going to try and get him as much care as possible. He deserves it.” Bucky could have sworn that the mentioned pokemon’s tail twitched, but he ignored it. “Just until he’s ready to set off again.”  
  
Nurse Mel paused in her motions, turning to assess the man in front of her with a critical eye. Gone was the soft edges of her public image, replaced by the all-seeing sharpness of any mother alive. She may have been smaller, but at eye-level, she might as well be twice as tall.

 

Bucky met her gaze, swallowing.

 

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, words measured and obviously binding. “...That’s awfully nice of you, Sargeant Barnes.” She seemed to mean it, a genuine smile on her face. “Now, let’s show you how to wrap his wing. It’s going to need the most attention, after all, so we start there, alright? We can’t have this little one waking up before we’re done.”  
  
The words were phrased in a slight order, nudging him to take the wrap that she offered. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

It was in those moments, carding his hands through the once sleek feathers of the staraptor after securing the wing, that he found himself eerily calm. They weren’t warm like Redwing’s, holding hidden flame, but they were warm enough, rising and falling with the pokemon’s deep breaths. Nurse Mel had left specific instructions and medication for the pokemon but extended her contact details in case of an emergency.  
  
Bucky had barely noted her leaving with Clint, hands still focused on preening feathers, calm. _That’s the word._

 

“You okay down there?” Sam’s voice broke through just as his hand reached for the staraptor’s comb of feathers, only for it to retreat at the reminder of the pokemon’s description. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to mess with what it focused on, lest it hurt his pride further.  
  
“Yeah, I’m good. Staraptor looks a bit better, right?” Redwing had hopped over, resting a few paces away out of respect, but Sam came and sat close, his own hand smoothing out a rogue tail feather.

 

“He’ll get better. Good job on the wrapping.” Bucky’s heart swelled at the compliment, leaning over to press a chaste kiss on the corner of Sam’s mouth, receiving a chuckle in return. “We’ll make a bird man out of you yet.”  
  
“Uh huh, but the sky is only big enough for a few egos, and I’m not talking about those legendaries-” A nudge followed the response, causing Bucky to offer a smile in return.  
  
That smile, however, just caused one of them to pull the other close, sharing a soft kiss between them, lips light.

 

Once they broke apart, foreheads touching, Sam managed to get some words out, amused. “And yet you’re smitten for yet another bird? I have to laugh. Just don’t tell Clint; he’ll try and get us to join some secret bird society.”

 

“Whatever you say, darling.” Bucky’s laugh was light, gaze moving to the sleeping form next to them. “Let’s get this one somewhere comfier, first.”  
  
If Sam noted the slight affection in Bucky’s tone, he didn’t call it out. He, instead, kept his smile to himself. “Yeah, let’s.”

 

* * *

 

 

_When the staraptor woke up, it took ten seconds for trouble to brew and about five more for a potted plant to be thrown across the porch, followed by a solid 30 seconds of lopsided attempts to get airborne. The realization that he had his wing wrapped had not settled well with the pokemon, which only called for one reaction: anger._

 

 _Why wouldn’t he be? The last thing he could remember was receiving another offering of meaty goodness, only for a small pain to pierce him right under his neck feathers. From the sudden betrayal to waking up bound, he could only expect the worst._  
  
_Which is why he let out an almighty hiss at the sight of the two humans. They’d intrigued him greatly with the compassion to give him food, but it seemed that humans were all the same these days. He would not be surprised if they just wanted to chain him up to yet another pole for some idiotic battles, pokeballs be damned._

 

_Perhaps they’d cage him now?_

 

“Hey!” _It was the birdless one that spoke first, sparing a glance at the shattered pot on the floor before fixing his gaze where the pokemon was expecting: the bind, snug but vastly foreign to his perspective._ “It’s okay. I swear it’s all going to be okay.” _The relief that crossed the human’s face in a second made the staraptor huff - pathetic - before he decided to let off yet another hiss._

 

**_“Back off!”_ **

 

_His perch swayed._

 

_The birded human, however, observed with the presumed knowledge of someone who’d dealt with this sort of reaction before; then again, if the amused glint in his pokemon’s eye meant anything…_

 

_He blinked, eyes still a bit wild for his taste, and hopped down into some leaves below. It was not the most graceful movement, but it’ll do. It had to, especially since he knew he looked like a total mess already-_

 

_Wait._

 

_Someone had cleaned him; the scruffy comb in his eyes had been blinding to the comfort around the rest of his body, which had a relatively good preen. Sure, there were places that needed a far better touch, but not all feathered creatures had the great skill of a staraptor._

 

_Obviously._

 

 **_“Why did you preen me?”_ ** _The question was directed at the talonflame - ‘Redwing’, if he remembered correctly - which only caused the two humans to look between them in interest._ **_“I was going to do that myself! These are my feathers, not yours!”_ **

 

_The last time anyone had preened his feathers, he’d been among the flock._

 

_Redwing seemed to regard him for a few seconds, blinking slowly, deliberating. Was the pokemon in on this madness? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them grew too close to their human that everything they did was right in the eyes of Arceus. Perhaps this was merely a pity preen, getting him ready for another one of those wretched-_

 

 **_“It wasn’t me. My human’s mate did that.”_ ** _Redwing’s head twitched, blinking once more. Honest._ **_“Left the crown for you to do, since it seems that you care about that.”_ **

 

 **_“Mate?”_ ** _Oh._

 

_The staraptor immediately wrenched his gaze away from the other pokemon, fixing it squarely on the human in question. It...seemed concerned? More so than any human who’d stumbled upon him in the last moon, if his memory was sound. Sure, some would take pity and throw a stray berry from their catch, but most took one look at him and started yelling._

 

_It wasn’t his fault that they left their food unattended and in the open. Amateurs._

 

_But this was different. The human was not shouting, nor looking angry at the mess he made. Neither of them seemed to care for anything except the bind around his hurt wing._

_It was painfully odd, but waves of confusion ebbed with something else…_

 

_This didn’t feel right. It couldn’t-_

 

_He chittered, head shaking in frustration._

 

**_“What do you want from me?”_ **

 

_He did not expect the humans to understand, but while the language was foreign, they seemed to have read his face well enough to answer. Preening-Human stepped forward, hesitating, before slowly making their way towards the pokemon._

 

_The staraptor, eyes narrowing, did not move._

 

_The other human, however, sat on the stairs, allowing for the talonflame to slot itself between bent legs and pick at their ear. While the two seemed comfortable with this, the staraptor noted that both were still watching the events out of the corners of their eyes. Protective._

 

_A bit of pride swelled._

 

 _Nonetheless, Preening-Human stopped moving once they were an arm away, crouching down once more to be at some semblance of eye-level. Considering that the staraptor already stood at arm-level, there was not much comfort in standing as he did._ _  
_ _It was strangely endearing._

 

_He didn’t speak, which the human seemed to take in stride, so their little staring session was accompanied by silence. It was neither uncomfortable nor pleasant, but the silence was neutral enough to...well, understand._

 

_Perhaps._

 

“Sorry about the comb. I didn’t want to touch it in case you wanted to do it yourself.” _The human broke it first, gesturing between the top of their heads as they spoke. It sounded like an apology - something that the staraptor rarely heard from humans - and it was a sincere one at that._ “Thought you might like the rest of you looking alright so you can focus on that.”

 

 _The staraptor looked at Redwing questioningly, only to receive a small nod in return. Confirmation._ _  
_ _Warm, fuzzy confirmation._

 

_That, however, didn’t put the featherless creatures in the clear. They may have called him the predator pokemon, but that did not mean he was so vain to know otherwise. He’d heard tales of legendaries being caught by these creatures - slipping up was not an option._

 

_Though, in hindsight, he could have been a little less destructive._

**_“I can vouch for them. They’re all sorts of odd, but they mean well.”_ ** _Redwing had left his spot to attempt to climb on his human’s back, causing the latter to bend with an exasperated sigh. However, it did not take long for an arm to extend, which he happily climbed upon._ **_“Fourteen moons. I’ve seen your kind heal in less.”_ **

 

 _Preening-Human still had that earnest look on his face, which was starting to grow on the pokemon, but that seemed alright…_ _  
_ _Fourteen moons. He could do that._

 

_The staraptor didn’t miss the intake of breath from the human as he stepped forward, aiming for an arm and strategically pecking at the jacket cloth. Noting the hard substance beneath it - akin to a skarmony’s feather - he merely cawed in slight interest. Odd, indeed._

 

 _To his credit, the human barely moved, but it was obvious that he was being respectful. Good._ _  
_ _Great._

 

“So...How’re you feeling?” _The question held the right amount of emotion to be decipherable, open enough to respond honestly, yet still comforting._

 

 _How_ _was_ _he feeling?_

 

 _Between the ever-looming fear of the chain around his foot, to the countless openings in a battle cage, to the innate fear of human cruelty...This was not within it. It was calmer, if not better. There was that semblance of something that the staraptor hadn’t felt since the comfort of starlys was the only thing he needed._  
_  
_ Was he feeling better? Possibly.

_Was he going to feel better? Potentially._

 

 _Pecking at the human’s arm once more, staraptor felt his crown feathers tickle skin._ **_“We’ll see.”_ **

 

* * *

 

 

_Whatever Redwing had said was not an over-exaggeration: These humans were all sorts of odd, indeed._

 

Bucky had gotten used to the staraptor sleeping on the porch, oftentimes waking up at odd hours of the night to check up on the avian pokemon. Despite offering for a warmer spot within the house (with only the comfiest poke-beds he could get from the nearest Pokemart), the staraptor had still made the porch swing his base of operations.

 

If he wasn’t on said swing, then the pokemon had taken to clinging to the tire swing, body rocking so that the rocking movement increased. It had become some sort of afternoon ritual, especially after a bowl of food and some alone-time preening. While Bucky had not been approached for help since the first time, the one-winged attempt at fixing the comb had left the staraptor frustrated constantly, so one could assume that the style he had was not preferred.

 

Thus, angry swinging was on the menu. It was strangely hilarious to watch.

 

Sam, noting the movements one afternoon, mentioned that the staraptor was stretching out his uninjured wing slightly. “He just wants to fly.”  
  
“Makes sense.” The two had taken to sitting on the porch stairs instead of the swing, mostly in respect to the pokemon’s chosen space. Bucky, seated one stair below between Sam’s legs, opened one eye to watch, ignoring the soothing hands in his hair for a few moments. “Remember that time Hill took away your wing privileges for a week so you could rest? You’d be doing the same thing.”

 

“A week? It lasted four days before they called us in.” Sam chuckled behind him; Bucky did not need to look back to know there was a fond smile on his face. “Besides, we didn’t have the swing yet.”

 

Morgan hadn’t been around until a month or so later. “True.”

 

The unperturbed staraptor rocked backward, letting the tire rock with him, but the arc stayed relatively small. Nonetheless, the movement ruffled his feathers, which seemed to please him enough to continue. It was therapeutic.

 

Redwing huffed above, blending among the dying leaves.

 

“Go push the swing.” Bucky turned to look at Sam, who looked anything but joking about his words. In fact, he looked immensely thoughtful, smile soft. The expression made his features soften as well. “As much as he’s going to deny and ignore it, the gesture counts.”  
  
They turned as one to watch the staraptor, before returning to their easy gazes.  
  
While Bucky didn’t humor him with a response, Sam took that as a win, pushing a strand of hair back before leaning down to kiss Bucky’s forehead. A step ahead, Bucky surged up to meet him halfway, stealing a peck on the lips as he got up from his seat.  
  
Sam laughed at the shit-eating grin, “Moron.”  
  
“I’m your moron.” Bucky threw the reply over his shoulder, gloved hands brushing the dust off his pants as he walked to the swing. By the time he was halfway, the staraptor had noticed his approach. He, however, didn’t stop swinging, even if he kept a sharp eye out for trouble.

 

Bucky stopped a few paces away. “Hey again.”  
  
The pokemon chirped in greeting, but the expression stayed the same - a resounding ‘ _What do you want?’._

 

Bucky made a set of motions in response: first at the swing, then at himself, followed by a swinging motion with his arms. _You like to swing?_

 

There seemed to be an understanding, though skepticism lined the staraptor’s expression. He chirped once more, agreeing, but still poised for the request - once again, a resounding ‘ _What do you want?’._

 

However, as Bucky looked back at Sam - who seemed to be immensely proud at the steps he was making - he found a smile breaking onto his features. They could figure it out; they had this in the bag.

 

All it needed was a little push.

 

He stepped forward, rounding to the back of the swing and noting the pokemon’s surprised chitters. Before he could turn and possibly peck the human’s eyes out, however, Bucky had already pushed at the tire with his left hand, allowing the tire to swing forward with a considerably greater force.

 

The pokemon, instinctively, gripped the tire and squawked.

 

It took two more pushes for the startled squawks to turn into a series of surprised chirps, which dissolved into a sound that had Bucky grinning. The staraptor, now reaching speeds fast enough to brush his comb back, had his uninjured wing fully extended, a call of delight sounding with every forward movement. Redwing, equally as delighted, called right back, which had Sam’s victorious laugh joining the chorus.

 

“There we go!”

 

If there was any other way to create the warm feeling in his heart, Bucky knew it would come from a select few people; as he looked at the grey creature in front of him, wing extended and crown feathers billowing, perhaps he had space for one more.

 

The feeling, as if in agreement, swelled as the staraptor looked back, eyes bright with happiness.

 

_Maybe one more…_

 

* * *

 

By day seven, Sam had gotten used to seeing the staraptor on the porch swing, but he was not prepared to see the same Staraptor on the couch with Redwing, chirping softly about whatever large winged pokemon spoke about.

 

The larger of the two looked far better than when he first arrived, which was saying quite a lot given the circumstances. Crown feathers styled in a slightly lopsided quiff, the staraptor seemed content to sit so close to another bird, feathers looking sleeker with every meal and subsequent preening. Pokemon did heal quite quickly, but it seemed that he was making leaps and bounds to the road of recovery.

 

Especially when said leaps and bounds involved entering a human’s home and talking with said human’s boyfriend’s pokemon companion like it was a Sunday brunch.

 

If he was honest with himself, that was not the weirdest thing to see on a Thursday morning. To top it all off, Bucky strolled into the living room, already dressed with hair slightly damp, and offered a two-fingered salute in greeting. “Mornin’, darling.”

 

“Good morning to you too, sweetheart.”  
  
The pokemon, finally noticing his presence, chirped their greetings as well, with Redwing leaving his perch to cuddle up to his human, neck extending to poke at Sam’s chest like an overeager dog. Sam, used to the greeting, crouched so that he could receive the beak rubs with a soft chuckle, as he has done since the day they found Red on tour.

 

It was Riley who had seen him first: a tiny bird that barely weighed four pounds, who preferred to sit on shoulders and cuddle until the sun rose. Nobody seemed to mind on colder nights, though; the pokemon could be as warm as a furnace, constantly hopping from bed to bed in order to share said warmth. It was not a surprise that the friendly fletchling became such an integral part of the group, nor was it shocking that it stayed close to two men in particular.

 

With one of them, there were bonds that were rarely spoken of, secrets hidden deeper than the mysteries of mew.

 

Either way, Redwing had a full family by the time he fully evolved, assisting where needed with the same bravery as his humans. Sam still couldn’t fathom how such a small creature had grown into the formidable opponent he raced within the skies, nor how friendly he stayed despite all odds. _His best bird, through and through._  
_  
_ Riley would be proud.

 

The talonflame surged up to nibble at his ear, chirping lightly, which broke Sam out of his thoughts as a laugh surged up in his throat. “Alright, alright, I love you too.”  
  
That seemed to be what Redwing was looking for, because he stepped away and hopped back onto the couch, pressing up against an equally amused staraptor. As if the world wanted to mess with him, Bucky was wearing a similar expression to the latter, eyes twinkling.

 

“So, when did Mr. Emo come into the house?”

 

Bucky’s amused expression turned immensely excited, despite his tone of voice attempting to sound nonchalant. “Oh, he came in with Red this morning. They’ve eaten already.” The hand wave didn’t help hide the expression. “You ready to go? There are muffins on the counter from that nice old lady down the road.”

 

“Mrs. Watkins, with all the delcattys?” Sam, raising an eyebrow, merely maneuvered his way around the couch, stopping briefly to tug Bucky into a morning hug, hands loose on his hips. “Mrs ‘ _My granddaughter needs a husband and you look like a dashing young man’_?”

 

Bucky, pressing his face into Sam’s shoulder, held back a groan. “She was still trying to set me up, by the way. I politely declined.”

 

“At least we get muffins from the exchange.” Sam reached up to squeeze an arm in good nature before the two broke apart with matching smiles. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get cake.”

 

“I’ll remember to bat my eyelids more. Apparently, my eyes are dangerous-” _Of course they were. Those things were dangerous._ “But not as dangerous as that trillion dollar smile. Wakanda could never afford that.”  
  
That got Sam smiling, which Bucky kissed off his lips with a small hum of approval. _Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be._

 

“To answer your question, though, we’re ready to leave. I don’t know how Mr. Raptor will take to the compound, but we’ll have to see.”  
  
Sam looked back at the pokemon, who were wearing equally interesting expressions, and sighed. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. It’s not like Fury’s in town, right?”

 

_Wrong._

 

* * *

 

It took 1 minute for Fury to note that there was an unfamiliar face among the Avengers and their respective companions, which could have been reduced to 10 seconds if he wasn’t busy giving a very affectionate espeon her daily belly rubs. However, the loud exclaim from the avenger’s young spider had caused him to look at the monitor; the sight of Parker sitting cross-legged in front of a staraptor was not a normal occurrence.

 

“And who the hell is this?”

 

From the corner of the room, reading a book, a gardevoir shrugged his shoulders without a word, before placing the book down and floating to the door. The espeon, noting the other’s movement, gently righted herself before following. Two against one, it seemed.

 

Thus, Nick found himself standing at the door to one of many training gyms, watching what had to be the most enthusiastic greeting that staraptor had ever seen, from human and pokemon alike.

 

Barton and his decidueye were already perched on one of the platforms, along with Miss Maximoff and her mimikyu, but Parker was far too interested in the bird before him, chatting up a storm. To the pokemon’s credit, it seemed to be quite alright with the kid talking, despite the slight shiver in its tail.

 

Barnes caught his eye, looking sheepish, so he assumed that the staraptor must have arrived with the duo. Interesting.

 

Peter was on his last legs of conversation, having scooted forward enough to be able to touch the staraptor. “-And I hope you like it here! Oh, and that your wing gets better; you’ll be up and out in no time.” As Fury walked over, he noted that the kid’s eevee was already nestled under the bird’s wing, unperturbed by the foreign presence.

 

Pixie huffed; the espeon usually found the smaller version of herself adorable.

 

At the sound, Parker’s eevee moved out from under the pokemon’s wing to greet the espeon, thus causing the rest to focus on the latter’s approaching form. Like clockwork, each step had the bird inch closer to who he considered safer, gaze locked on the new human.

 

“New pokemon?” Fury’s eye flickered from the staraptor to Barnes in thought, but his expression stayed neutral. “I thought you rolled solo.”

 

Wilson, having shared another one of _those glances_ with his talonflame, merely shrugged his shoulders. “Long story, but he’s here for the time being.” Dismissive, yet still vague.

 

Barnes, however, gently placed a hand on the back of the pokemon’s head, “He’s staying with us while he recovers. Fractured wing. Should take another week or so.” _Or so, indeed._

 

The staraptor didn’t react to the touch besides a small shake, but it did react to the words with a small click of its - his - beak.

 

_Interesting._

 

“Well, I’ll leave you all to your devices. As you were” Pivoting, Fury waited for his pokemon to be by his side before they left as a unit, pausing just outside the door to hear Peter exclaim something.

 

“-Also, what’s your name?”  
  
He assumed the chitter of confusion was the staraptor.

 

Business as usual.

 

* * *

 

_Humans were usually odd, but these ones? They were worse._

 

_The clothes they wore may have added to that confusion._

 

_For one, they all seemed to be training, with their pokemon on standby to assist, which left the staraptor to watch from the sidelines, pecking at the wing wrap when it started to itch._

 

_Arceus, was this odd._

 

_Humans do not fight with their pokemon, and yet these ones did._

 

_The tiny human (Peter?) was swinging (swinging!) about on webbing, similar to that of an aridos, which only made the pokemon shuffle closer to the glass to watch. Humans, while taking a liking to pokemon due to their abilities, never ceased to try and emulate them. Everywhere he looked, there was movement from human and pokemon alike, leaving him quite busy as he identified each player._

 

_Something sped past, deceptively close to the glass, which made the staraptor shuffle back by pure reflex. Redwing. Soon after, a larger object followed, red-white-and-blue reminding him of a braviary, only to note that there were none in the area-_

 

_Redwing’s human - Sam - had wings._

 

_That made sense._

 

_The duo, splitting up, circled once more, one firing things at the spider-human, while the other dealt with the deceptively quick eevee below. However, just as it looked like Redwing would scoop up the brown pokemon, there was a sudden thwip in the air as three quills stuck into the floor between the two, causing the pokemon to abandon its assault._

 

_Staraptor tracked the air for the source, spotting the quiet decidueye moving from his perch._

 

 _Ah, that made sense._  
  
_However, just as the bird took off for a glide, red seemed to incase him, resembling something an alakazam would have used, and effectively suspended the pokemon in the air._  
_  
_ It was the female human (Wanda?), her mimikyu circling around her as she worked.

 

_These humans were immensely odd-_

 

 _It was in his awe of the situation that he missed the sudden shot from somewhere hidden, effectively hitting the spider-human with a bright yellow tag. With a slight yelp, the young human swung to a platform, landing with equal grace, and looked around as the battle (play fight?) seemed to end. “Where is he?”_  
  
_The staraptor turned, counting the members, only to come up short on one. The decidueye’s human (Clint?) was hiding a snicker behind his mouth; he did not seem concerned. “Up and to your left, kid.”_  
  
_Following Peter’s line of sight, the pokemon balked at the height of the platform hinted at; upon it, sat Bucky, holding one of those human weapons with a smile. “Saw an opening and I took it!”_  
_  
_ Peter stuck out his tongue, but any anger in the expression was non-existent.  

 

_Staraptor warbled, a humored little sound this time, and watched as the team reconvened, probably discussing the battle in depth, just enjoying each other’s company. Together._

 

_Team._

 

_Flock._

 

_The starly in him, no matter how small and young, swelled._

 

* * *

 

 

By day ten, nobody could say that the staraptor was anything but healthy. Perhaps it was the rest, or maybe the food it consumes like a vacuum, but the gleam in his feathers were impressive.

Sam noted it the night before after leaving a midnight snack on the porch, pulling Bucky close to share warmth (and prevent blanket stealing on his part), but Bucky could see why he said that in the morning light. The pokemon’s wing would be checked in the next four days, but at this rate, he would not be surprised if he flew off the moment he had the wrap off.

 

Besides the lopsided quiff, the staraptor was starting to look like the pictures of his species on the internet: large, slightly imposing and impressively sure of itself. He was sure that by the time the pokemon got both wings on that comb, the staraptor would look ready to take on the world.

Not that he wasn’t ready to do that as of yet; the pokemon would have to dream about conquests until that wrap came off, or at least that’s what Nurse Mel had said.

 

_At least his dreams were fun, hopefully._

 

Bucky’s dreams, however, were not.

 

It had been quite a while since he’d found himself staying up to avoid the dreams, but with Sam off helping Scott Lang with a time-sensitive mission, he’d opted to stay on the couch instead of sleeping in an empty bed, cheesy midnight soap operas muted in the background.

 

The house was too quiet.

 

Flesh hand drumming endlessly on the couch arm, switching tempo every other tap, Bucky closed his eyes and counted down from fifty, ignoring the thudding of his heart.

 

 _Fifty._ He was fine.

 _Forty-nine._ He was safe.

 _Forty-eight._ Sam was safe and fine and beautiful and-

 

_Thirty-_

 

Wait, had he done the rest?

 

A tap on the porch window startled him, neck whipping around and causing a sharp pain to form, only for the wild gleam in his eyes to ebb away into familiarity.

 

The staraptor tapped again; this time, it sounded far more sure of itself.

 

Oh.

 

With a small grunt, Bucky pushed himself to his feet, walking over to the sliding door and opening it with a hum. The pokemon, once sure that the opening was wide enough, nudged its way into the house.

 

Bucky stared at him, incredulous. The only time the bird came in was when Redwing was around, nothing more and nothing less. “Oh?”

 

The staraptor turned, red eyes blinking once, and observed the human in front of him. From Bucky’s perspective, the pokemon’s gaze slowly swept over his body, lingering on the void of space where his left arm would be, before tilting his head in thought.

Then, with another slow blink, he chirped, emotion brewing in his eyes.

 

_Alright then._

 

He chirped again, feathers lifting.

 

Closing the door, Bucky waited for the pokemon to protest, but received the opposite; the staraptor merely clicked his beak in approval, turning to toddle over to the couch and curl up upon it.

Bucky’s original spot was untouched: a respectful invitation.

 

“Uh…” Still a bit speechless - and partly worried for his life ( _Sam, if this bird ends me in my sleep, you’ll know) -_ he made his way over to the couch, gently easing himself into the couch. “Okay then.”  
  
The staraptor did not respond, staring at the TV for a second, before fixing his gaze on the human. _Concerned._ He chirped once more - “Staraptor.” - and buried his head into Bucky’s side, lifting his arm up so that it was around his neck.

 

_He may have left the flock, but he still knew comfort was comfort._

 

Bucky stiffened, unsure of what to do, but the rumble in the pokemon’s chest, which he felt in the hold, was strangely comforting.

 

The staraptor cuddled closer, head now resting on his lap, and warbled once more; a soothing sound in the silence of the house. _Questioning like a mother’s call._

 

_Are you alright?_

 

If Bucky responded, he did not recall what he said, nor if he’d spent the night talking to a creature that could not reply in the conventional sense. However, that didn’t stop the feeling of comfort - of peace - from infiltrating both of their dreams that night, eyes drooping to the sounds of grumbled noises, illuminated by a TV that held no viewers.

 

For this was not a Hydra base, nor a battle cage, but a home, or perhaps a nest.

 

When Sam and Redwing tiptoed into the living room, spotting the two sprawled on the couch, deep in slumber, they shared a knowing look, if not relieved.

 

 _Ain’t that a sight._ Leaning over, Sam placed a gentle kiss on Bucky’s forehead, eyes shining with a sort of love that could not be mass produced, and let them be.

 

He let them rest as long as they pleased.

 

* * *

 

 

As was their lives, the situation was not normal, but less fucked up than usual.

 

For one, it seemed that James Buchanan Barnes had a feathered friend who would not leave him alone now, having opted to plant himself by his side and subsequently anyone who associated with him. It was quite adorable if Wanda’s grin was anything to go by when they arrived at the compound the day before; then again, her mimikyu was the epitome of clingy, with all its tiny terror.

 

While nobody outside the house was sure whether the staraptor was messing around or not, the little flock of three had managed to make him less than feral, if not understand the pokemon’s quirks. That, and he seemed to like cuddles.

 

Thus, like any respectable bird, the staraptor had opted to spend his morning spread across the humans’ laps, awkwardly laying on his side to avoid resting on his wing and to see the tiny humans inside their strange ‘television’ contraption. It was comfortable overall, especially when Sam opted to scratch at a particularly itchy spot behind his neck, murmurs soft.

Redwing was right; the human knew birds far too well; it had not taken long for him to get some sleep with that.

 

Sam nudged Bucky, receiving a small grin once he motioned at the pokemon in their laps. The staraptor was asleep, chest rising and falling.

 

_Content._

 

Redwing seemed to snicker from his perch, being the only one free to move as he pleased. However, that would change in an hour or so, if Clint’s message could be taken as true. Nurse Mel would be around to check the staraptor’s wing soon, which hopefully followed with an all-clear for the medical examination.

 

By the time a short _‘She is outside :)’_ was sent, Sam had taken to running his hands through the pokemon’s feathers, oftentimes resting them on Bucky’s equally content movements. Sharing a look, Bucky shrugged his shoulders, feigning nonchalance, shimmied out from under the bird and strolled (read: speed walked) to the door.

 

The staraptor, however, woke up at the sudden shift, making a sound of pure confusion. Chirping, he righted himself in the couch, looking between the humans with a grumpy sort of glare. _Traitors._

 

Sam laughed.

 

“Buck, your bird is saying that you ain’t slick.”

 

Bucky called back as he opened the door, “I didn’t hear it, Sammy, so you’re lying- Ah, good morning. Er - where’s Clint?”

 

“He had to go take Lucky to a- Oh, hello there!” The staraptor, perking up, had hopped off the couch and waddled over to Bucky, pressing into his side with a small chirp, confused.  
_Nah, protective._ Sam grinned at the sight.

 

“Staraptor.” The reply was what anyone would assume was a polite greeting, especially paired with a respectful nod of his head. Classy.

 

Mel’s blissey waved.

 

Shifting to the side, Bucky let the two inside, watching as the Blissey immediate went to check on the staraptor’s wrap. The latter, seemingly understanding her purpose, stood relatively still and stared around the roof. Despite the calm demeanor, it was obvious that he was excited; the bird’s comb feathers were quivering.

 

“Well, he looks as excited as you all, if not more.” Mel chuckled at the sight, eyebrow-raising. “You got him into the house?”

 

“Took a bit, but he sleeps on the couch now.” Anybody could have deciphered the slight pride in Bucky’s voice. “Still likes the swing on occasion.”

 

At the mention of the porch swing, the staraptor chittered in agreement.

 

“Good to know. You’ve all done a great job” The nurse let a smile grace her features as she crouched, facing the ecstatic pokemon, “Now, let’s see how you’ve held up, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

 

There was excited, and then there was _excited._

 

Once the wrap was taken off, the staraptor seemed to let out a mighty shiver, feathers fluffing up as if the tension it held had slid away from him. With his eyes closed, he let the friendly nurse check whatever else she’d deemed necessary - shivering on occasion with the compliments sent his way - before warbling once the curious hands retracted.

 

“And we’re done! He’s as good as new, give or take a few weeks of nutrition, be it in the wild or not.”

 

Bucky beamed. “So, how’re you feeling, big guy?”

 

There was a beat of silence, with everyone watching the pokemon for an answer, only laughter to break out at the rather...obvious answer.

 

Wings stretching out, the avian pokemon flapped once to vault the couch, landing right near the reflective surface of a nearby vase. Before anyone could question the necessity, the pokemon started to furiously swipe at his comb, “Staraptor!”

 

“Well, at least his priorities are in order. Ask him to do your hair next, Barnes.”

 

If the staraptor saw the affectionate bird that was flipped Sam’s way, followed by a matching reaction, he did not comment on it.

 

* * *

 

 

_Out of all the things that the pokemon had missed, flight had to be the most important - the wind in his feathers, sun in his eyes - and yet here he still was, grounded by choice. In all honesty, he’d expected the humans to keep him inside once the wrap was off, but once he had expressed interest in the closed porch door, it was immediately opened._

_Freedom, with no strings attached, but he stayed put, conflicted._

 

_The staraptor could have bolted, taking to the sky with a cry of triumph, creating distance from the brief pain in his life as the human nest got smaller and further away. He could say goodbye and leave them be, letting them all return to their odd lives._

_He just had to flap once, and he’d be off._

 

_Yet, for the life of him, he didn’t want to do it._

 

**_“Arceus.”_ **

 

 _Letting out a small warble, conflicted, the staraptor fixed its gaze on Bucky, expression earnest and immensely happy for the full recovery. Why would the human care that much? It was far too obvious that the world had dealt them both some issues, but the care in his eyes spoke volumes. The pokemon had seen it with Sam when the two nested together, murmurs low and expressions calm, with Redwing when the bird tugged at the human’s shirt for a game of fetch, but him?_ _  
_ _He hadn’t deserved it._

 

 **_“You do know that you can stay, right? A nest. Home.”_ ** _Redwing, having flown over to cuddle into Sam’s side, merely raised his voice._ **_“Always room for one more. It’d do you both some good. Sure, this isn’t the most normal situation, but at least we’re not that fucked up. ”_ **

 

_The staraptor could have sworn he heard a snort from Redwing’s human, but that was neither here nor there._

 

_A nest._

 

_Home._

 

 _Bucky spoke up (when did he get so close?),_ “It’s alright. You can go now; be the best-looking bird this side of the state, if not the country.” _Each word held no falsehoods, no conditions…_ _  
_ _Just acceptance, like the good wishes of starlys past and present._

 

_You can go now, little one._

 

 **_“And if I stay?”_ ** _The humans would not understand - probably never understand - but he wanted to be sure. He had to be sure._ **_“What then?”_ **

 

 **_“Life is simple, but sometimes it isn’t. You need a few constants to keep you grounded, no matter how high you fly.”_ ** _Redwing, sincere, nibbled at Sam’s outstretched hand._ **_“You’ll be loved, simple as that. No conditions; these two are some of the best ones. Isn’t that all that is needed?”_ **

 

_There were times when he forgot that, but looking back, the talonflame was right._

_Perhaps that was all life needed._

 

 _Thus, with his chest puffed out, the staraptor took a deep breath and waddled over to who he hoped would be his human, gaze set with a determined gleam. Bucky, frowning, started to speak._ “The porch is that way-”

 

_It is, but that wasn’t important._

 

 _His next move, however, was important._ **_“Yeah, perhaps it is, Red.”_ **

 

_Swiping at his perfect comb, the staraptor mussed it up with vigorous movements, only to surge forward and purposely press the feathers into Bucky’s hand, warbles shaking his chest feathers. The human, Arceus bless his soul, took a while to understand, but once he did, the pokemon was rewarded with a hand gently running through his crown feathers, tentative._

 

“Looks like we’re going to need a new perch, huh Sammy?” _A breathless laugh left Bucky’s lips, which only made the pokemon butt his head upwards, agreeing._

 

“Sounds like a plan; I already saw the wishlist. We’ll get this one settled at home in no time, maybe pester Clint for housewarming gifts.” _The chatter soon dissolved into background noise as the two conversed, leaving the staraptor to enjoy the rhythmic motions among his comb. Safe, grounding..._

 

_Home?_

 

_Home._

 

_He could get used to that._

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

> **> >** Hero Watch™ **@herowatchofficial <<**
> 
>  
> 
> _Photos have been circling of_ **_@WhiteWolfOfficial_ ** _out and about with a pokemon companion. Is the staraptor his?_

 

 **> >** Yeet enthusiast **@yesitskayla <<**

 

 **_RT @herowatchofficial:_ ** _!!!!!_

 

 **> >** $10 for thrown hands **@fightmebinch <<**

 

 **_RT @herowatchofficial:_ ** _Oh hell yeah! Looks like #TeamCap goes to the birds!_ **_@WhiteWolfOfficial_ ** **@CAPTAINAMERICASW**

 

 **> >** Mewfourtwenty **@uselessmewfact <<**

 

 **_RT @herowatchofficial:_ ** _That’s so cute oh my god I’m crying in the club dfgdf_

 

 _-_ **> >** _Redwing’s tail feathers_ **@redwingHQ <<**

 

 **_RT @herowatchofficial:_ ** _Bird rights! Bird rights! Bird rights!_

 

 **> >** Let freedom reign! **@TakedownTed <<**

 

 **_RT @herowatchofficial:_ ** _I wouldn’t trust anyone near such a man. Thought he was banned from having one._

 

 **> >** $10 for thrown hands **@fightmebinch <<**

 

 **_RT @TakedownTed:_ ** _There’s nothing that says so. Stop pulling stuff outta your ass._

 

 **> >** Let freedom reign! **@TakedownTed <<**

 

 **_RT @fightmebinch:_ ** _I still stand by what I said. It’s probably not even his. No pokemon would want to go near him, like braviary’s staying far away from this fake cap._

 

 **> >** Doing this all day **@BrooklynKid <<**

 

 **_RT @TakedownTed:_ ** _*Braviarys. Can’t even spell your freedom birds right, whatever that means._

 

 **> >** Yeet enthusiast **@yesitskayla <<**

 

 **_RT @BrooklynKid:_ ** _sksksksks_

 

 **> >** _Redwing’s tail feathers_ **@redwingHQ <<**

 

 **_RT @TakedownTed:_ ** _Them’s fighting words. You ain’t welcome here. The pokemon doesn’t make the man! Redwing is a gift!!!_

 

 **> >** Let freedom reign! **@TakedownTed <<**

 

 **_RT @fightmebinch:_ ** _I wouldn’t trust anyone near such a man. Thought he was banned from having one. Makes perfect sense!_

 

 

 

> **> >** Let freedom reign! **@TakedownTed <<**
> 
>  
> 
> _Why does our country let war criminals pair with pokemon!_

 

 **> >** $10 for thrown hands **@fightmebinch <<**

 

 **_RT @TakedownTed:_ ** _Who’s putting down the cash to argue with such broke opinions smh._

  
**> >** Let freedom reign! **@TakedownTed <<**

 

 **_RT @fightmebinch:_ ** _Well, my opinion is that a war criminal being allowed to pair with a ratty looking staraptor should be vilified, not celebrated. Disgusting._

 

 **> >** J.B.B **@WhiteWolfOfficial <<**

 

 **_RT @TakedownTed:_ ** _His name is Snafu, show him some respect and/or politely stop speaking of him. What he does ain’t none of your business. Got more soul in his comb than you’ll ever have._

 

 **> >** Sam Wilson **@CAPTAINAMERICASW <<**

 

 **_RT @WhiteWolfOfficial:_ ** _And heart to match, just saying._

 

 **> >** _Redwing’s tail feathers_ **@redwingHQ <<**

 

 **_RT @CAPTAINAMERICASW:_ ** _Oh shiiiiiiiiiiii-_

 

 **> >** $10 for thrown hands **@fightmebinch <<**

 

 **_@TakedownTed_ ** _Take a mf seat!_

 

 

 

> **> >** _Redwing’s tail feathers_ **@redwingHQ <<**
> 
>  
> 
> _Quick! Someone get @ snafuHQ on lock._

 

 **> >** _Snafu’s crown feathers_ **@snafuHQ <<**

 

 **_RT @redwingHQ:_ ** _I got you covered._

 

 **> >** _Redwing’s tail feathers_ **@redwingHQ <<**

 

 **_RT @snafuHQ:_ ** _!!!_

 

 **> >** _Snafu’s crown feathers_ **@snafuHQ <<**

 

 **_RT @redwingHQ:_ ** _!!!_


End file.
